


The Hogwarts Express

by TheClassicist (Lemons_Are_Life)



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 16:34:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6159775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemons_Are_Life/pseuds/TheClassicist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Events take place during Half-Blood Prince timeline. </p><p>Hermione Granger starts a school newspaper that runs out of the Room of Requirements. It's called The Hogwarts Express. Draco Malfoy is forced into being her features writer and the two begin doing investigative research together for an article. But they get more than they bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Newsroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione Granger grapples with responsibility as the editor of The Hogwarts Express.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Readers,
> 
> Hello and thanks for being here. 
> 
> I started writing this story in 2015 and forgot about it because of life getting in the way. Recently, I've been getting Kudos and hits on it so I've decided to dedicate more time to this story. This is my first Dramione so any criticisms and comments you have will be greatly appreciated. I want the characters to keep in character as much as possible. I have noticed some editorial errors but I will fix those when I have more time.
> 
> Please enjoy and leave a comment. Let me know what you think.
> 
> The Classicist.

Draco Malfoy had been glaring side-eyed at her for a full 10 minutes. Hermione pretended not to notice or care, but being alone in the same space as him made her heart beat twice as fast as normal. She kept her head bent and brow furrowed, reading his copy and occasionally making changes with red ink.

Hermione circled a word. Draco huffed.

“Malfoy, you must learn the difference between ‘then’ and ‘than’,” she said matter-of-factly, looking up at him, her bushy brown hair framing her face.

“Might I remind you that I don’t even want to be here, Granger. I've put little to no effort into that,” he hissed defensively. It was a true enough statement but he found her criticism offensive. She ignored him and her quill began to dance over his work once more.

They were sitting in the editor’s office at the far end of the Room of Requirements. Through the glass windows of her office, Hermione had full view of the rows of desks with hard working students of all years brainstorming, writing and revising stories for the first ever edition of the monthly _Hogwarts Express_ newspaper. Just out of her view were the students who were putting the pages together, fitting in the stories like puzzle pieces on the page, and the massive printing machines which ran entirely by magic. It was a bustling newsroom atmosphere and though modern technology didn’t work at Hogwarts, the only word muggle-born Hermione had to describe it was “electric”. Since she had motivated for a newspaper, Professor Dumbledore had named her editor-in-chief and had magicked the Room of Requirements to serve as a newsroom every weekday from 4 pm to 6 pm and from 9 am to 4 pm on Saturdays. As a sixth year, Hermione already had a lot on her plate, but this project fostered a spirit of camaraderie among the Houses, taught students to work as a team towards a common goal, gave them some kind of practical work experience and contributed to the school at large.

Hermione wished she could congratulate herself on coming up with the inside-joke of a name for the newspaper but that honour went to Ronald Weasley, in an unusually brilliant moment of inspiration. Hermione chuckled every time she thought about it. Of course, this was during one of Ron and Hermione’s rare cordial moments of late, when he had come up for air from snogging Lavender Brown. Hermione was heartbroken. Both Ron and her best friend, Harry Potter, had Quidditch commitments this year and hadn’t joined the paper. She was lonely. Maybe that’s why she was throwing herself into this project. Besides, it was fun.

Draco Malfoy did not agree. While the others working at the _Hogwarts Express_ had enthusiastically volunteered, he had been forced against his will by Professor Snape after making a comment that he was now “spoilt for choice when it comes to toilet paper, between the _Quibbler_ and the _Hogwarts Express_ ”. The joke had gone down well with his fellow Slytherins but apparently the Head of House didn't have the same sense of humour. Now he had to endure receiving instruction from a muggle-born and he was not happy. He had other responsibilities this year; his gaunt physique and hollow eyes a testament to this fact. To make matters worse, Pansy Parkinson, ever the love-sick puppy dog, had volunteered after hearing he would be working at the Hogwarts Express. Draco just couldn’t shake her. Pansy was staring at him now from the tea table on the far side of the newsroom. He didn't turn to look but he could feel her eyes boring into the back of his head.

Apart from news from the wizarding and muggle worlds, the sports and entertainment sections, Hogwarts news, and studying tips, each House had a page dedicated to House-centric issues, Quidditch team info, House student of the month, and announcements. Cho Chang put together the Ravenclaw page, Hannah Abbott took charge for Hufflepuff and Dean Thomas for Gryffindor. However Slytherins were in short supply and besides a couple of third years, Theodore Nott had joined along with Millicent Bulstrode and Miles Bletchley, who was covering sporting news. Hermione had made Draco the Slytherin House reporter only to find his first write-up severely lacking.

Hermione sighed, falling back into her chair, defeated. She lifted up the page. It was a mess of read notes, arrows and question marks. “Your copy is thin, to say the least, Malfoy. And it's not so much House news as it is a propaganda piece for Slytherin. You cannot go on for four paragraphs on why Slytherins are better than Gryffindors. That isn’t the assignment. That isn’t true, let alone House news.” Hermione stood up at her desk, her a skirt sticking to her smooth upper thigh.

Now it was Draco’s turn to pretend not to notice. He remained silent, not wanting to inadvertently extend his tenure, though his lips did curl up into a sneer.

“I'm going to have to switch you,” Hermione said, suddenly exasperated, her hands moving to her forehead and staying there as she closed her eyes. “Pansy Parkinson will take over the Slytherin House page. I'm going to put you on a feature … It’s all I have left.”

Draco laughed, leaning back in his chair, his hands behind his head, “So instead of pushing a Slytherin agenda, it will now become a gossip page.”

“I’m sure she can tell us a thing or two we don't want to know about you, from the looks of things.” Her eyes went over his head to the tea table where undoubtedly, Pansy was still staring at him.

Draco sat up. “Just give me something so we can get this going. I don't want to waste another month at this freak show. But not a feature. It's too much work.”

“It's all I've got. You'll have to take it and I'll have to help you because it's a huge amount of work. But we can get it done if we work as a team.”

“Bugger that, Granger. I'm not interested in working as a team with a mu-‘,” Hermione glared at him, actually turning a bright shade of Gryffindor red, “muggle-born. My father will not like to hear of that.”

Hermione was fuming, “Get over your self, snake. The whole point of this paper to co-operate and to let go of prejudices.”

Draco snarled at her, annoyed, more because Pansy would make an issue of his spending time with Granger than the latter’s blood status. That was a problem, but he enjoyed winding her up. “Fine. Just give me the bloody assignment. Let's just get it done.”

She gritted her teeth, “It was meant for Luna but she is still busy doing interviews for her article on ‘The Walls have Ears: Memories from Portraits’. Your feature will be on the lesser-known ghosts of Hogwarts. You, I mean we, will need to find at least three ghosts that keep to themselves and lurk in forbidden corridors and write profiles on who they were, how they died and what their afterlife has been like.”

“Fuck, Granger, that’s going to take time and energy.”

“Of course it will! But it’s also informative and interesting and mind your language from now on if you are in my presence,” Hermione said raising her voice one more. “We will start tomorrow night. Meet me in the Great Hall after supper. We’ll begin by asking Peeves if he knows of any ghosts we could talk to. He's been here since the school was built. Now get out of my office and tell Parkinson to stop looking at you like she's a cheap prostitute. It's distracting everybody.”

Draco laughed as he left, looking back to see Hermione compose herself, straightening her skirt which made Draco groan in disappointment.

 _She may be a Mudblood_ , he thought as he left her office, _but I’m still a 16 year old boy and that was a great view_. 


	2. The Lion's Den

“I can't believe you are teaming up with Malfoy,” Harry said during supper. “Do you want me to come with, in case he tries to petrify you or worse?”

Hermione shook her head, “Honestly, Harry, it’s just Malfoy. Except for his sharp tongue, he's harmless.”

“… Or he’s a Death Eater and responsible for cursing Katie Bell just a few weeks ago,” Harry replied sharply.

“You know how I feel about you jumping to conclusions. Besides, you're so busy with Quidditch and Slughorn, it wouldn’t be fair to drag you into the newspaper as well.”

Just then Ron and Lavender walked past them, having finished supper. They didn’t stop for a chat, Lavender pulling Ron along so that he didn’t stop to talk to Hermione.

She rolled her eyes at Harry, trying to seem annoyed but she felt a sinking feeling in her tummy and she guessed that Harry knew she wasn’t alright.

“The hall is emptying. I should go wait for Malfoy at the entrance,” she said getting up.

“Be careful, Hermione. Reach for your wand if he tries anything.”

She nodded, turning to the Slytherin table where Malfoy was chatting animatedly to Blaise Zabini, And Pansy. He didn’t seem to notice her look at him and head for the door.

She stood waiting as the Great Hall cleared out, hiding behind a statue as Cormac McLaggen approached so as not to encourage his recent fervent advances.

It was getting late.

Malfoy stayed seated at the Slytherin table. She noticed him sideways glance at her.

She stood at the door another ten minutes before she realised he was toying with her. He wanted her to come over to the Slytherin table so he could embarrass her in front of his friends. It was cowardly of him, attempting to lure her into his den.

She stood for another minute, suddenly furious, arms crossed and staring directly at the group of Slytherins. Pansy looked over and giggled.

 _Well, I'm the lion and the den is mine_ , she thought finally, taking in a deep breath and storming over to where Malfoy sat smirking.

“Draco, looks like you're being paid a visit from the Gryffindor Princess,” Pansy chirped, latching onto Malfoy tightly. “Should we bow?”

Hermione paid no attention to her.

“So, you had the guts to approach enemy territory after all, Granger. Took you long enough. We took bets, see,” said Malfoy as Blaise handed him a galleon, looking rather irritated. “Nice to know that you're a lion and not a kitty cat. I thought I was going to lose.”

Pansy giggled again, and Hermione shot her a deadly look.

“Now that your little game is over, care to join me on our assignment? Or should I just tell Professor Snape that you have better things to do with your time?”

Malfoy chuckled as he got up, pushing Pansy’s hands off him nonchalantly. She looked dejected.

“Cheer up, Granger. Don't be such a sour-puss or do you not believe in having fun at all? It is a Friday night after all.”

He sauntered away without looking at the other Slytherins still lounging at their table, and Hermione facing them, completely flushed.

“Coming Granger?” he called over his shoulder, followed by a, “Don’t wait up for me, boys.”

Hermione turned on her heels and ran after him. She heard Pansy huff in fury as she left. Jealousy, maybe or she was lamenting the loss of a goodnight kiss.

 

***

They didn’t find Peeves that night. They walked in silence through most of his favourite haunts in the castle. Long empty corridors and dimly lit corners. It was quite awkward, listening to just their footsteps and Draco’s heavy breathing. Could he hear how fast her heart was beating, she wondered, her hand clutching her wand at all times. Draco had never been anything less than utterly vile towards her and now Hermione was frightfully aware of herself.

The poltergeist was nowhere to be found.

“Why is it that when you actually want to talk to the bastard, he doesn’t show up, but when you least expect him, he throws orange slime at you that takes a week to get off?” Draco moaned.

“That story is true then? I thought it was just a myth.” She roared with genuine laughter, letting her guard down for the first time.

Draco listened to her laugh, the genuine pleasure and joy of it. It was quite endearing.

“Well, then you were myth-taken,” he punned, suddenly feeling light on his feet and happy. She laughed again and Draco smiled at her.

“Well, since Peeves is a dead end, we may as well try someone else before it gets too late. Come on,” she said, guiding him down a staircase and into the first floor girls’ bathroom.

Draco sped ahead at the entrance and turned, walking backwards in front of her, “Granger, you’re luring me into an abandoned bathroom close to curfew? Tell me, what are your intentions?” His grey eyes were bright and his smile was wide.

“Very funny, Malfoy,” responded Hermione, as she put her hand on his chest, pushing him backwards gently as she moved forward.

She instantly knew she had made the wrong move.

He stopped dead, and his eyes grew cloudy. Hermione’s breathing turned laboured and she pulled her hand away as fast as possible.

“You dare to touch me,” he snarled, “you filthy …”

Draco didn’t get a chance to complete his sentence because at that moment, Moaning Myrtle came flying at them from where she had been sitting at the window, staring at the moon.

“Visitors to my toilet, and at this hour? I hope you're not looking for a place to canoodle?” She smiled wide, raising her eyebrows and cackling at her own suggestion. She drifted through the toilet cubicles before circling back to them.

“Who the hell are you?” said Draco, still fuming but glad that he hadn’t said the word that could have cost him months of detention.

“I'm whoever you want me to be, gorgeous,” Myrtle said, attempting to snuggle her incorporeal body into Draco. He looked horrified.

“She … she’s Moaning Myrtle. She haunts this bathroom. That's why it's unused. She was like me when she was alive, a Mud … muggle-born,” struggled Hermione. She looked dead ahead, breathing hard. She chastised herself for getting too comfortable with Draco, she knew what he was capable of, how volatile he was.

“I'm sorry,” she continued, trying to steady her voice, “but I've just remembered some extra homework I needed to finish. Draco, we will begin the assignment another day. Excuse me.”

And with that, Hermione turned and exited the bathroom briskly, leaving Draco feeling uneasy more than angry. He had been enjoying her company, when he didn’t remember her blood status, and she was rather pretty in an unusual and Gryffindor sort of way.

He watched the door even after she had long gone, feeling remorseful.

“Well, looks like it’s just you and me,” cackled Myrtle.

“Yes, looks like it,” said Draco, turning around.

 

***

It was 10 am the next day, the newsroom was relatively empty with most students enjoying a day of relative warmth outside before winter truly set in. Hermione sat at the editor’s desk working on a Potions homework rather than on the newspaper.

She looked up before he knocked on the door.

“Malfoy,” she said, exasperated.

“Here you go, Granger. One down,” he said cheerily, as if the previous night’s outburst hadn't occurred. He handed her a sheet of parchment.

“300 words on Edrick Glynn, a Hufflepuff who died from an unfortunate accident involving the moving staircases in 1405. He was in his third year. His ghost haunts the Gunhilda of Gorsemoor Corridor.”

He took an apple out of his pocket, shined it on his robes and bit into it as he sat down.

“Malfoy, this is actually really good,” said Hermione after looking at his work.

“Myrtle introduced me to him after you left last night … To do your homework. How did that go anyway?” He didn’t give her a chance to reply, “He’s shy of students so no one really knows he's there ‘cept for the other ghosts, poor bloke. Talks a bit funny. I thought we could go out again tonight and hunt some more ghosts.” Draco took another bite.

She set the parchment down, “This is a good start but, Malfoy, I need to say, that is, after last night, I'm not sure I can work with you in that capacity anymore. I know what you think of me, and others like me, and I can't do it. I was actually going to ask Professor Snape to relieve you of your duties to the _Hogwarts Express_.”

“Come on, Granger, you know it's this or detention and I don't fancy hanging around the potions classroom after teaching time. Give me another shot, I'll try not to be so …” he searched for the word, a small sneer on his lips and his grey eyes penetrating into her. He looked serious. Deadly so.

“Errrr … Is prejudice the word you are looking for?” Hermione volunteered. She shivered slightly. Was she afraid of him, really? Or just uncomfortable?

Draco laughed, “Let’s just leave it at that. Anyway, I owe you for introducing me to that ghost, Myrtle. She helped out last night. So, tonight? 7 pm, meet in the Great Hall?”

Hermione looked at him, “Okay, but we set some ground rules.”

Draco’s gaze deepened, “Rules are meant to be broken, Granger.”

“Be serious, Malfoy. I won't touch you with my filthy Mudblood fingers,” he cringed at her words and groaned in frustration, starting his protestations that he never actually said that word last night but she shushed him, “and you don't have any violent outburst. We don't dilly dally and we focus on the task.”

“Dilly dally? Are you a teenager or are you as old as McGonagall?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. Draco huffed, “I agree to your terms.” He smiled and held his hand out, “Care to shake on it, Granger.”

She turned away, “I would rather not.”

 

***

 

Hermione managed to duck into Myrtle’s bathroom just before supper that night. She had never seen the ghost so excitable, Myrtle almost turned a shade of ghostly pink when Hermione mentioned Draco’s name.

“The charming boy,” Myrtle sighed. “I did so want a kiss in return for my help last night.”

“He was nice to you?” Hermione gasped.

“So dashing, so gorgeous with his pale eyes. He was very nice. He likes you, you know. He has some issues but he spoke very highly of the muggle-born witch. You are so lucky and you don’t even appreciate it. You don't deserve him.” She made a face at Hermione, as well as a rude gesture that Hermione chose to ignore.

“I can assure you, he loathes me … and my bad blood.”

“Then why did he fly into a panic when you left? He wanted to impress you. See, no regard for his feelings, ungrateful little wench.”

Hermione starred open mouthed at the transparent being before her.

“He is troubled,” Myrtle continued. “He has a task, he said, but his beliefs are changing. He needs a shoulder to cry on.” She looked to her own shoulder and smiled. “I told him, if he were to jump off the Astronomy Tower to his doom, he could share my toilet … Forever.”

Hermione took the opportunity to escape just then as Myrtle flew into a fit of hysterics. Her breathing was hard.

_A task? Was Harry right? And was Malfoy trying to impress me? He hates me, why does Myrtle believe otherwise?_

She composed herself and with questions crowding her mind, she went off to the Great Hall to meet with the walking contradiction.


	3. The Boy in the Lake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While working on a feature for the school newspaper, The Hogwarts Express, Hermione and Draco spend the evening looking for a rarely spotted ghost that haunts the boathouse. But they end up finding more than they bargained for.

Hermione decided that she would not approach the Slytherin table that night. So, as 7pm rolled around, she defiantly waited at the Gryffindor table. After all, she was not desperate to work with Malfoy – she had offered him a way out. He had approached her to continue working on the story together, so he could approach her now on her side of the Great Hall. It was the least he could do after his outburst less than 24 hours ago. 

Harry huffed next to her. He had again stated his reservations about her running around the castle after dark with his arch-nemesis and possible Death Eater. Hermione pointed out that perhaps she could watch Malfoy for potential Death Eater signs during their supernatural scouting, which made Harry look a bit less annoyed with the situation. She was so lost in thought wondering if Malfoy would come up to the Gryffindor table that she was surprised when he actually did. But, lo and behold, there he was, at 7.02pm, standing right in front of her. 

“Granger,” he nodded in acknowledgment. “Ready?” He turned to Harry, “Alright there, scarhead?”

Hermione got up, shooting a look at Harry. She had warned him not to say anything inflammatory. 

Malfoy scoffed, “Don’t worry, I’ll bring her back in one piece, but don’t wait up.”

With that, he turned on his heels and made for the door, leaving Harry fuming. 

“It will be fine, Harry. Don’t let him get you worked up,” Hermione urged. “I’ll see you later.”

Hermione made for the door herself, passing a dumbfounded Ron, his girlfriend hanging on his arm, who watched as she joined Malfoy at the entrance to the Great Hall.  
“So, you seem to know where we are going tonight,” Hermione said to him.

“The Boathouse,” he said, matter-of-factly, “There’s a ghost of a Slytherin boy there, somewhere, apparently. That’s what the Bloody Baron said. He’s hard to find.”  
They had reached the staircase leading down to the boathouse. It was a moonless night and everything was dark. Light drizzle fell.

“Lumos,” said Hermione, raising her wand. The way down was precarious even on a bright and sunny day. “This is a bit scary, Malfoy. I know a few of these stairs are very steep and broken.”

“Honestly, Granger ... What us journalists do for a story,” he chuckled from just ahead of her. “Anyway, we are almost there now. Watch this step.” He turned around and offered his hand to help her down a particularly sharp stair. 

Hermione frowned at him.

“Oh, come off it, Granger. I’m trying to make up for my behaviour. Being a gentleman and all that.”

“Why?” she asked, “It’s never bothered you before. Why start acting civil now?” She held the light of her wand between their faces, judging his expression. He looked tired, more tired than usual. His eyes were sunken into his head but he wore a smug grin on his face. His eyes and his body language told two different stories. He looked at once carefree and trapped. She was almost shocked by the change. He was a far cry from the porcelain boy she had met in first year. “What would daddy-dear have to say if he saw you now, working with a Mudblood?”

He noticeably grimaced at this, the light dulling in his eyes. “Maybe it’s time to realize that not all grownups know right from wrong,” he said.

“And do you?” Hermione asked.

“I don’t know what I know anymore,” he answered, “except that these stairs are slippery and if you fall and crack your skull open, Potter will think I pushed you. Let me help you.”  
“I can manage on my own, thanks,” she said and pushed determinedly passed him.

He caught up with her as the staircase narrowed. Grabbing her wrist and spinning her around, he pleaded, “Why is it so hard to believe that I’m actually trying?”

“Because,” she spat, “you are nothing but a bully. You have been bullying me since I met you. Name calling, even! You have never said one kind word to me before. You are prejudiced, spoilt and cruel. I was there during the whole Buckbeak incident, you know. He was a defenceless creature, Malfoy! Not to mention how your family treated Dobby. Wait; let’s talk about your family! That’s where you got all your backwards values from, isn’t it?” 

She hadn’t realized she had been yelling until she finished. Tears mixed with rain as years of torment flooded back to her. 

His face was pained and anxious, his blonde hair illuminated by the wand light emanating from her wrist which he still gripped. He watched her curiously in silence as she cried in the rain. He stared too long and Hermione felt awkward.

“Let go of my wrist,” she said, her thin voice breaking the silence, “It was a rule that I don’t get my muggle germs all over you, remember?”

She tried to pull her wrist away. Malfoy held fast and took a step towards her. Reacting, she took a step backwards without realizing there was a wall behind her. Her heart beat faster. She had allowed herself to get emotional. She was afraid of his reaction. 

His voice came soft, almost like a whisper as he stepped closer to her, his body almost pressing into hers. “Does it seem like I care if you touch me, Granger?” He looked down at her, their faces almost touching. He looked as scared as she felt. They held each other’s gaze and for a second, he leaned his head down towards her. Hermione thought he may kiss her. He was breathing fast, or was that her?

Then, she felt his hand move off her wrist and grab her wand. He pulled it gently from her hand, stepped back and moved down the passageway holding the light so that she could see the stairs ahead.

“Come, Granger. Let’s get this over with so you don’t have to spend more time with the prejudiced, spoilt, cruel asshole that I am.”

***

They walked in awkward silence the rest of the way, Hermione lagging behind and Draco carrying her wand ahead of her. Hermione had never felt so conflicted. Here she was traversing the school grounds at night with her best friend’s nemesis. And he was being civil towards her which was disconcerting. He had said he wanted to make up for his behaviour. Why? Also, he looked like he wanted to kiss her a moment before. Was he playing a dangerous game or was he being genuine?

They reached the boathouse. Everything was wet and the air was freezing. In the darkness, Hermione could just make out the paddles lined up against the wall. It was too dark to see the rafters overhead. The place was eerie at night. It was too dark and too quiet except for the gentle lull of the lake ahead of them.

“Okay,” said Hermione, determined to make this a short search “Where is he?”

“I said he was hard to find, didn’t I?” said Malfoy, handing her back her wand and taking out his own. “Lumos,” he said, and his wand lit up adding to her own light. “We should start inside the boathouse and then look around the perimeter.” 

“Maybe we should split up and search. It’ll go faster.”

“Not bloody likely, Granger. One wrong step and you sink to the bottom of the lake then Potter would rightly have my head. And I like my head. It’s attractive. I’d rather not lose it.”

She could sense him smiling in the dark and wondered how he could after all she just said to him. “Besides,” continued Malfoy, “The baron said this is one of the scarier ghosts, not talkative and not friendly.”

“What happened to him?” Hermione asked as they made their way slowly in the blackness of the boathouse.

“I have no idea, really. The baron wouldn’t say. I figured as ghost detectives, we would find a clue or something that would help us find him.”

The boathouse wasn’t very big and they looked in all the corners and beside cabinets. Draco lead the way. The darkness was penetrating and they couldn’t see around them except for what their wands allowed. The hair on the back of Hermione’s neck stood up. She stuck closer to Draco than she would have liked, her arms brushing his own every now and then but she couldn’t help it. “I don’t know what we are looking for,” groaned Hermione in frustration. “Are you sure the baron wasn’t having you on?”

Draco turned to look at her, his famous smirk on his face. “What’s the matter, Granger? You think I brought you here as a ruse? It is one of the castle’s prime make-out spots after all.” 

He’s trying to intimidate me, she thought, and I won’t let him. She realised just how close they were then.

“Sure, Malfoy. Let’s just ask your dear daddy what he would think of you kissing a Mudblood.” She drew herself up and stared back at him unblinking. Despite her outwards confidence, she felt herself tremble. She was certain he could feel her shaking – there was a hair’s breadth between them. 

Malfoy’s face darkened but he kept his smirk. A deep chuckle escaped him. In the light of their wands, she noticed his mouth smiled but not his eyes. There was a freckle on the tip of his nose. Then, in a swift motion, his free arm went around her waist and he drew her close. He bent his head down towards her and she felt something fall in the pit of her stomach. No one had held her like this since Victor. She didn’t want this. Not with Malfoy. She struggled but he held fast, bringing his eyes level to hers. His lips almost touching her own. He whispered in husky breaths that tickled her mouth. “I tend not to write home to my father about who I kiss, Granger. Last time I checked, my love life wasn’t his business.” 

She choked a sob and closed her eyes willing him not to kiss her, wanting to scream but not remembering how. She could feel his hastened breath on her, his chest rising and falling against her own. Then, she felt his cheek on her own, his breath on her ear, “Why is it so hard to believe that I’m trying to change, Granger? Maybe I’ve realised that parents aren’t always right.” His cheek was cold against her flushed and hot skin. 

“Please let go of me,” she whispered back to him. “Please.”

He stiffened and let go, turning around immediately so she didn’t see his face. She was grateful because it meant he didn’t see her own. Her legs were jelly.

“Relax, Granger,” he said, walking ahead, not waiting for her this time. “I was only joking about making out. I like my escapades consensual. Call me old fashioned.”

She didn’t move after him. “I want to go back, Malfoy. You are toying with me and trying to intimidate me.”

“Is that what you think? That I brought you here to play with you? I’m actually enjoying this little side project, Granger.” He kept walking away from her until he turned out of the boathouse. A shiver went up Hermione’s spine and she realized she was alone. Fear compelled her feet and she ran after Malfoy. 

Outside, the moonless night was just as black as inside the boathouse. They were at the most secluded part of the grounds; a little bank on the left-hand side of the boathouse with a high stone wall on the other side. No one from the castle could see them. 

Malfoy was on the grass. He was staring out at the Great Lake. It was near invisible in the dense gloom, only lit up sparingly by the light from the castle above. “I haven’t broken any of the ground rules,” he said, as if he had been waiting to tell her that. “I’ve not had a violent outburst.”

“No, but you’ve touched me-” she started but he cut her off.

“The rule was that you don’t touch me. You haven’t. I’ve touched you. And I think we have established that I no longer care if you touch me-”

“We haven’t established that,” she was yelling again. How did that happen? Why did he push her so much? “You think I’m a filthy Mudblood-”

“Mudblood. That’s what they called me,” Hermione heard the whisper in her ear. It was a small, shrill, angry voice. She gasped. Malfoy did too.  
“Did you hear that?” Malfoy said.

Hermione, nodded. She moved to get closer to Malfoy as the fear gripped her. Now she needed to be near him, her only source of protection. He was moving towards her too, she noticed. Probably for the same reason. After all her years in the castle among the living and dead, she assumed she would have been braver about another ghost but the night was so dark and the rain made everything more dramatic. 

Then she saw it. A shimmery white figure just behind Malfoy. It was so small. It must have been eleven when it died. It was sitting the grass hugged its knees to its chest, rocking slightly back and forth. She must have indicated somehow that she saw something strange because Malfoy turned around to look. 

“Excuse me?” she choked out at form of the little boy ahead of her.

“I said,” it hissed, the voice bolder and full of resentment, “That’s what they called me. Before they pushed me in.”

“They pushed you?” Hermione gasped. “Into the Great Lake?” She started to approach. The figure dropped to its side, curled up in the foetal position. She could see it clearly now. It was wearing a nightshirt, the kind she had only ever seen Scrooge wear in TV productions of A Christmas Carol. It had big, hateful, hollow eyes that took up all of its face. Its thin lips were pursed on its face. It was transparent but the there was a tinge of green to it, like it was decayed. But what stood out the most was that it rippled as if submerged in water. Its body looked wavy and it made Hermione feel sick looking at it. She had never seen something so terrifying. She stopped dead in her tracks. She wasn’t going to get any closer.

“They said it was initiation. They put me in the boat and rowed me into the middle of the lake. It was dark and cold. They were nice to me until then. Then they took my wand from me and threw me into the water. They knew I couldn’t swim.”  
“Who were they?” asked Malfoy. He was standing next to Hermione and she hadn’t noticed until then. His voice was too sympathetic for what they were looking at. The thing on the bank made Hermione’s skin crawl. There was an ominous energy around it. She yearned for the safety of the warm and bright Gryffindor common room.  
“The older Slytherins. They called me a Mudblood and said I didn’t have a right to be in their house. They pushed me into the water and they knew I couldn’t swim. Now I can’t leave.”  
It got up and floated towards them. Hermione grasped next to her and caught Malfoy’s arm. She held fast.

Malfoy, his voice tinged with fear, said “Why are you still here?”

“They haven’t found my body, have they? The mermaids found me in the water and drowned me. They took my body to an underwater cave. It’s still there. No one looked for me. I won’t leave if my body is still down there. Why are you here? No one alive has come to see me for hundreds of years. I’m all alone.”

“I’m Draco. This is Hermione. We want to know your story.”

“Are you going to stay with me forever? The mermaids could drown you too. Stay with me.”

“We just want to know your story,” said Malfoy more confidently. “Who are you? When did you go to Hogwarts?”

“I think my name was Ambrose. I can’t remember my last name. It’s been so long that I’ve forgotten. I’ve been dead for much longer than I was ever alive. I was one of the first students at Hogwarts. My parents never came to find me. They left me all alone. Did they know what happened to me? Did they worry when I didn’t come home?”  
“I don’t know, Ambrose. But the baron knows you’re here. Why hasn’t he asked someone to help find your body?”

The ghost let out a guttural howl that sounded like a dying animal. Hermione pressed herself into Malfoy and she felt his body shudder. The ghost moved towards them fast. Its big eyes, rippling, fixed on Malfoy. It looked wet. Water trailed out of its mouth and poured out from the sides of its eyes.

“He is one of the students who pushed me in. He comes here to taunt me. He wants me to stay here forever. He knows I’m trapped on this bank. He knows I’m all alone.”

Hermione had noticed that Malfoy had started backing up back towards the boathouse little by little, guiding her along with him. 

The thing turned to Hermione, a sickly sweet smile on its face. “Are you a Mudblood too? Can I drown you so you can stay with me? I am all alone. You have a funny name like me.”

“N- no, Ambrose. But we will help you,” Hermione said as Malfoy began to backup faster, “We will find your body.”

“Don’t go,” called Ambrose, his voice shrieking in the dark. “I’m all alone here. Don’t leave me.” He was rushing at them with outstretched arms but Malfoy already had Hermione’s hand in his and he was running, dragging her behind him back through the boathouse.


End file.
